Dead Bite: An Undead Story 30

Dead Bite:  An Undead Story 30

At first, Dylan thought that Ardizzone hadn’t noticed the murder in the Cockeyed Tiger.  In fact, he himself had almost forgotten about the whole ordeal except when George showed up there to fuck.  For some reason, Dylan felt like the two events were connected although that was preposterous.

Dylan and his lover had finished in the back room, and the Mexican was straightening his clothes as he walked back into the bar.  Just as he buttoned the top of his vest, Dylan ran into a young woman with red lips and perfectly coifed hair.  She pulled her cigarette holder from her mouth and blew a ring of smoke at Dylan.

“Who’s your little boy toy, Alvarez?” the lady asked in a sultry voice.  Everything about her was sex, right down to her brooding eyes.  “I see you’ve moved on to the big leagues.”

“Elsie.   What are you doing here?”  Dylan didn’t stop to look at her, instead grabbing some wet glasses and wiping them off.

“It’s Elsa to you,” she ordered sharply.  Then, regaining her composure, Elsa said, “I’m checking in on my stud.  I heard there was a scare here a couple of weeks ago.  I hope you didn’t have anything to do with it.  I would hate to lose my prize steed.”  She smiled with perfectly white teeth.

Dylan kept his eyes averted from her.  “I am not your prize anymore.  You know that.  If Ardizzone even knew about your…our past indiscretions, he would have my head.”

Elsa leaned back against the bar, her fur coat falling from her shoulders revealing bare skin.  She gazed around the smoky speakeasy with her dark eyes before glancing back at Dylan.  “You’ve got one hell of a looker too.  I couldn’t compete with that.”  Dylan knew that she was talking about George.  He was sitting in the middle of the bar, a beer in his hand, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and a confident smirk on his face.  “Of course, I wouldn’t be opposed to…shall we say sharing.”

It was a dangerous proposition, but fuck it, Dylan was already in deep water.  “I don’t think so.  And does Ardizzone even know you’re here?”  Dylan raised an eyebrow.

Speak of the devil.  The gangster burst through the saloon doors, making a beeline to the bar where his wife was sitting.  She smiled coyly at him as he came near and gave her a kiss.  “Sorry about that, doll.  Man’s business and all.  I trust Alvarez kept you preoccupied?”

“It seems the man is all business and no play,” Elsa said, sliding from her seat.  She seemed to know that her husband wanted to speak to Dylan alone.  “I think I’ll go find a good ear elsewhere.”

As the beautiful woman left, Ardizzone turned to the bar and muttered to Dylan, “Women.”  The bartender nodded in agreement, not sure what he should say if anything.  He certainly didn’t want to insult the mobster’s wife.  Ardizzone silently motioned to a bottle of corn whiskey on the shelf, and Dylan poured a tall glass for him.

“So what happened here, Alvarez?  Someone fucking died, and I want to know why you covered it up.”

Dylan focused on doing his job, hoping that Ardizzone couldn’t smell the fear on him.  “It was just a simple bar fight.  Someone got stabbed.  I thought you would appreciate not getting the publicity.”

Ardizzone looked into his drink.  “And where were you?”

Dylan had dreaded the question.  He glanced up quickly to find George’s face in the crowd of bar-goers, and the Irishman was staring back at him intently.  Or rather he was looking at the back of the kingpin’s head with a rather pissed expression across his face.  “I was in the back….getting a barrel ready.”

Ardizzone nodded.  The gangster downed his whiskey in one gulp and slammed the glass on the counter.  “How about we go somewhere a little more private to discuss how I should proceed with this news.”

Dylan felt his stomach churn.  This was the last fucking thing he wanted, but he wiped his hands on a towel and followed his boss to the back room.  They weaved through the barrels in the cellar and exited out a door into an alley.  A single lamp burned its fiery eye down onto them, illuminating three other men in the alley.  As Dylan stepped out, the door shut behind him, and the Mexican turned to find another gooney at the threshold.

Ardizzone turned back to Dylan and weaved his fingers together, bringing his hands to his mouth.  “What should I do, Alvarez?  You are supposed to be running this bar.  And you let a murder happen…because you were ‘getting a barrel ready.’  As much as I hate some lazy ass Mexican who can’t do his job, I hate liars more.  And, you sir, are lying to me.  I’m trying to build an empire here, and I need to know everything that happens in it.  But you haven’t told me what happened.  You see my dilemma, right?”

Dylan nodded slightly, but it didn’t matter.  One of the goons swung a baseball bat into Dylan’s shoulder, and he could feel his bone give way to the heavy wood.  Dylan cried out in pain.

“What the fuck were you doing, Alvarez?”

How he wanted to spit on his boss right then, but Dylan knew that would be a death sentence for him, so he sucked it up and took the beating.  His grunts when he was assaulted were the only words that came through his lips; Dylan would not tell Ardizzone about George.  It would be one more thing he could use against him.

And Dylan knew that Ardizzone wouldn’t kill him…not yet anyway.  He had no one more trustworthy to take over the Cockeyed Tiger.  Besides, Dylan had tripled business since he had been in charge.

At one point, Dylan saw movement beyond his attackers, and he could feel George’s presence in the shadows.  Of course he knew it was George, although he wasn’t sure how.  It seemed that the air grew heavy with fear whenever he was near, almost like the feeling of the sky when it was waiting for the thunder to growl after lightning had struck.

Briefly, Dylan saw George, and the Irishman was poised to attack, pure power tightening every muscle in his body ready for destruction.  Dylan waived him off, and George obeyed, sinking back into the shadows.  This was not George’s fight.

Ardizzone held up his hand after a couple of minutes of punches and kicks.  Dylan lied on the ground a bloody, bruised mess, but he was still breathing.  The mobster bent down over his broken body.  “I guess that’s punishment enough.  Remember next time, Alvarez, don’t fucking lie to me, or you’ll be lying six feet under.”